


improvisation

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Forehead Kisses, Future Fic, Intimacy, M/M, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Plays the Piano, Post-Pacifist Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 02:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Regardless, he could do these small things for Markus when they cropped up. It was doingsomething, which was always better than nothing.It was the very least of what Connor owed Markus. Even if he knew Markus wouldn’t see it that way. Perhaps that made it even more important for him to remember it in Markus’s stead.





	improvisation

“Good evening, Connor,” the house said as the door swung open for him. It did the same thing every time he came here, but it still surprised him every time. A pleasant surprise, to be sure, but he always felt in the back of his mind that this might be the day that changed and Markus or Carl would realize he shouldn’t be here. Or maybe he would wake up and find out that none of this was real. Or, worse, that it had been real and none of it mattered because he wouldn’t care any longer because his more basic programming would reassert himself; he’d find himself back on the streets with Amanda in his head and only one mission in mind and this house wouldn’t recognize him anymore or it would see him as an intruder.

He felt like one sometimes. Even now. 

“Good evening,” he replied, despite knowing the house wasn’t truly sapient or cognizant of him. It wasn’t even programmed to appear so, really, so much as a brief touchstone on the way to other things. The voice was a mere formality, though a warm and welcoming one. At least, that was what it was to Markus, who always smiled a little fondly when it said his name. “Do you—” But he stopped himself from finishing the question.

_Do you have a name?_

“Yes, Connor?”

Connor sighed and pulled off the wool coat he’d taken to wearing over his suit. He might not have felt the frigid, unforgiving chill of Detroit in deep winter, but he couldn’t deny that his biocomponents performed at 1.53% greater efficiency when he wore it versus when he didn’t. And humans were over 6% more favorably inclined toward him with it on, not to mention a staggering 25.4% more focused on what he was saying and doing versus concerning themselves with the fact that he looked inhumanely cold and distant without it. It was, he decided, a worthwhile investment, even if the act of taking it off and putting it on and trying to find places to hang it could be cumbersome and annoying. “Nothing,” he replied, placing it on a hook next to the mirror in the foyer. “It’s nothing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The house fell quiet—or its AI did anyway. The house itself continued to creak as Carl’s caretaker walked around upstairs and shuddered as a western-blowing wind buffeted the east-facing windows. Outside, that same wind whipped the plastic that covered Carl’s latest project, his biggest yet. The less energy he had, the grander his ambitions and vision grew, and Connor knew Markus fought with him about it sometimes, would say Carl was overcompensating. They fought when Markus had the time anyway. Which wasn’t often now that the world had dumped its every problem on Markus’s shoulders. Not only was Markus expected to figure out how to integrate androids into human society as seamlessly as possible, he was supposed to solve the economic crises of every human society on the planet, end hunger for humanity with some sort of android-created silver bullet because somehow it was androids’ fault that people couldn’t eat, and, while he was working miracles, make humans behave themselves around androids rather than humans make themselves behave.

It was, as Hank might have said, a gotcha. If Markus fell down on even one of the jobs that has been tossed into his lap like so much rotting chum, the humans would have reason to pull out of their various agreements and promises.

They wanted to get him.

There was the sound of a sigh from the library and a beep as someone—Markus, no doubt—activated the piano. So he was home. That wasn’t always the case and Connor hadn’t called ahead to confirm, was too eager to leave the police station and didn’t want to have his hopes dashed prematurely if Markus wasn’t. Not that it would have mattered. He had business here regardless.

As he stepped into the library, Markus looked up and smiled, relieved. “You got them.”

Connor patted the sturdy, colorful cardboard that marked yet another one of Carl’s purchases from Bellini Paints. “I did. Do you want me to put them out in the studio?”

“I can—” But when Markus moved to stand, Connor pressed his hand against Markus’s shoulder, dragged it lightly across his shoulder blades and squeezed the opposite arm lightly. Markus huffed and followed Connor’s progress toward the door from his place at the piano. “Okay, then. You can.”

“I don’t mind,” Connor replied, voice raised against the wind. He quickly placed the paints on the hastily erected metal shelves that stood near Carl’s cherry picker and pushed the palette closer to the center of one of the shelves so that the wind wouldn’t pick it up and knock it to the ground. One corner of the plastic was flying free, the piece of rope that secured it to the floor lying in a coil on the cement. Connor grabbed the covering and crouched to knot it again, centering the rope in the grommet punched through the plastic, and made sure it was secure. Satisfied, he returned to Markus and the piano.

“You really didn’t have to—”

Markus asked for so little and Connor already knew that Markus didn’t need him to do this for him. Bracing his hands on Markus’s shoulders again, he said, slowly, with deliberate weight so there was no room for argument, “I _really_ don’t mind, Markus. It’s not even out of my way.”

He couldn’t do the things for Markus that he really wanted to do, like put an end to the anti-android sentiments that occasionally plagued the police department or further criminalize acts of violence against androids beyond the soft, ever-changing letter of the law as Detroit and the nation grappled with how to handle it all. As impatient for change as he was, as they all were, his hands were tied in so many different ways that it was sometimes difficult even for him to keep up with the correct regulations. Some days, he wasn’t sure it was worth continuing to bash his head against the DPD’s walls. And others, he knew it was where he needed to be.

Regardless, he could do these small things for Markus when they cropped up. It was doing _something_ , which was always better than nothing.

It was the very least of what Connor owed Markus. Even if he knew Markus wouldn’t see it that way. Perhaps that made it even more important for him to remember it in Markus’s stead.

Markus’s head tilted back, the crown brushing against Connor’s chest. Looking down, Connor could see the beginnings of a smaller, more intimate smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Connor saw, too, the way Markus’s fingers twitched toward the piano’s keys. “Need some space?” Connor asked. Sometimes Markus did, when he played, though he wasn’t always the greatest at asking for it. He’d demand freedom from every human who crossed his path, but for his fellow androids, he bent himself backwards to accommodate, to make their lives better.

Connor saw the way it tore at the fabric of Markus’s character. They were none of them saints and all of them, flawed, but Markus couldn’t afford to be seen that way. But Connor was determined to let him relax with Connor in whatever form that relaxation took.

“No,” Markus answered, as though releasing a pent-up breath. “No, I’m just not sure what to play.”

Blinking, Connor’s lips brushed Markus’s forehead and trailed down to his temple where no LED marked him out as different or lesser than human beings. Though the wound had healed, Connor still sensed a slight divot where there weren’t quite enough repair polymers to fully fill the hole. It was maybe Connor’s favorite spot to kiss, not least of all because of the way Markus always leaned into it, head tilting to follow the shape and path of Connor’s touch.

Connor straightened and pressed one final kiss to the spot between Markus’s eyebrows, just to draw a laugh out of him. It sounded like victory.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Connor asked.

Markus swiped through the options on the screen, though Connor wasn’t sure why he bothered. He didn’t need the sheet music to recall the correct string of notes. “I don’t actually have one, I don’t think,” he replied. “They’re all special in their own way. Any requests?”

_Yeah,_ Connor thought. _The one would make you most happy right now._ But he didn’t know which one that was and Markus maybe didn’t know either or he wouldn’t be having this problem. He filed away the realization and decided he would observe more closely from now on, maybe try to find out on his own. Connor reached past Markus and turned off the screen. He might also have allowed himself to relish the feel of Markus’s back curved against him as he did so. “So play for the hell of it,” he said, wincing because he was starting to pick up Hank’s bad habits, his vocal tics and cues. “Just because you can. Whatever comes out. I can make it a request if I have to.”

Markus’s fingers danced lightly over the keys, enough that it sounded a bit like rain pattering against a window, but not enough to get sound out of the piano itself. He bit his lip and stared down at the instrument for a moment and then nodded. “I guess that’s fair,” he said, finally pressing the keys the way he’d wanted to this whole time, testing them or testing himself. Connor wasn’t sure.

He noodled, aimless, for a minute or so before he seemed to find his bearings. But as soon as he did, something changed in him. The tension Connor felt in his spine, in his shoulders, in his neck seemed to melt and he closed his eyes, his features smoothing out until he was fully involved in what he was doing. Connor didn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell Markus had finally managed to cast over himself, remained instead a steady, silent, still presence at Markus’s back, even when it went purposefully unnoticed.

Not so different, he hoped, from the rest of the time, though this was more literal than the way he usually considered himself to be.

By the time he was done, he looked happy, content, maybe for the first time in a long, long time.

When he said thanks, Connor shook his head and kissed Markus again, skimming Markus’s hairline. “No, thank you,” he said. “That was beautiful.”

Markus ducked his head, but there was no hiding the pleasure he was feeling. It shone out of him, as much a part of him as his body was, his voice. There was no hiding it and that was beautiful, too, more than Connor had ever known to expect. But that was Markus. Always surprising. Always stunning Connor with his actions, his beliefs, the work he put out into the world, even when it was as ephemeral as this one was.

This time, when Markus opened his mouth to argue, Connor silenced him with a hand across his mouth that curved after a moment to cup his chin. Tilting Markus’s head up with his fingers, he brought their mouths together finally.

He told Markus without words what Markus meant to him and Markus? Markus understood.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the 76 Kiss Meme that's been floating around on tumblr since forever, I think, but I’ve been taking requests over at [my dreamwidth](https://spookykingdomstarlight.dreamwidth.org/12654.html). For this particular fill, [lady_katana4544](https://lady-katana4544.dreamwidth.org/) asked for RK1000, kiss on the forehead.


End file.
